


Drown My Sorrows

by Lizardlicks



Series: Consolation Prize [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Multi, Post Sburb/Sgrub AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 17:07:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardlicks/pseuds/Lizardlicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eridan is rapidly losing the struggle with his demons, but it's getting harder to care.  At least this time he won't drag anyone else down with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drown My Sorrows

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the lovely Ushauz!

It’s early evening when there’s a knock on his door.  Eridan startles awake and nearly dumps himself onto the floor.  He’d crashed on the couch again last morning it would seem, and it takes him a moment to get his bearings straight.  When he finally orients himself, he’s half hoping his unexpected visitor has gotten bored and left, but then the knocking comes again, soft but insistent.  
  
He pulls himself to his feet with a groan, swaying unsteadily as the change in elevation plays merry hell with his head.   
  
Did he really have that much to drink last night?  
  
When they knock a third time, he’s starting to get more than a little peeved.  He stomps across the living room, snarling profanities the whole way, and finally jerks the door of his apartment open, ready to rip into the unwanted guest.   
  
The explosion he’s built up dies instantly in his throat with a startled squawk of “Fef” when he sees her standing there, fist raised for another go at summoning him to the door.  A brief moment of awkwardness passes as they both register each other, and then it’s broken with Feferi smiling at him beautifully and pressing into him for a hug.  


  
“Eridan!  I’m sorry, did I come at a bad time?” she speaks into his chest, resting her forehead against him, and he has to turn his head to keep from getting knocked in the chin by her horns.  Sometimes he still forgets how much they’ve both grown since they were children, and it takes him a bit by surprise.  
  
“No!  No, I just, uh.  Late day, yesterday,” he stammers while he threads nervous fingers through his hair, suddenly conscious of his disheveled state.  If Feferi notices, she doesn’t say anything.  She just tips her head back and beams up into his face, and his stomach is suddenly twisting itself into unsettled knots.  He realizes they’re crashing headlong into another awkward pause when she asks softly if she can come in.  
  
“Oh!  Yeah, sure.  A’ course you can.”  He shepherds her into his living space and shuts the door behind them.  While she continues over to his kitchen table, he takes a moment to try and straighten himself out.  He tucks in his shirt.  His buttons seem to actually be lined up to their proper holes so he’s thankful for that.  When was the last time he had a shower?  He can’t actually remember and hopes to heaven and hell that it was recent enough.  
  
She’s seated herself at his table with her legs crossed primly and her hands folded into her lap.  She studies the grains of the wood while he makes a point of going to the fridge.  
  
“Can I get you somethin’?” he asks, then promptly regrets the offer when he actually gets a chance to survey the state of his supplies.  Right, need to add shopping to his list of things to do sometime this week.  
  
“No, that’s alright,” she declines politely.  “I actually can’t stay long.  I have business in town. I thought I’d drop by since I was in the area and see how you’ve been.”  She looks up at him and though her pleasant smile remains fixed on her face, her eyes take on a suspicious cast.  
  
“I tried contacting you earlier but you didn’t reply to any of my texts.”  
  
“Yeah, sorry,” Eridan’s gaze shies away from hers as he makes a point of busying himself in the cupboards. “Uh, forgot to charge my phone the last couple a’ nights.  Been keepin’ busy lately an’ it just slipped my mind.”  He pulls down the can of instant coffee from the back of the shelf and peels back the lid with all hope of a child on human midwinter festival day.  
  
Oh thank fuck and all the angels combined, there’s still some left at the bottom.   It’ll be a weak cup but he needs _something_ to clear his head or this headache is going to ruin the rest of his evening.  
  
Feferi makes a little ‘ah’ of understanding but he’s not all that sure she bought his excuse.  She was always too damn good at seeing past his bullshit.  They stew in silence for a bit while he finishes getting the water for his coffee heating.  Finally he’s left with nothing else to do and takes a seat opposite of her.  He clears his throat, intending to start up some bit of small talk-that’s what these little friendly visits inevitably turn into: how's life, how's the dog, nice to see you, goodbye - but she cuts him off.  
  
“I’ve been worried about you, Eridan,” she says abruptly, and the raw honesty in her voice stabs another tine into his chest and twists.  He looks up at her sharply and finds she’s worrying her perfectly painted lip with a fang.  He has to swallow a hard lump of guilt back down before he can reply.  
  
“I don’t need anybody to worry about me, Fef,” he protests, “We’re not kids anymore.”  
  
She smiles again but it’s slow and sad and tears him to pieces.  “We both know that’s not true.”  
  
She sighs and reaches her hand over the table for his and he takes it on instinct, lacing their fingers together.  He can’t bring himself to continue looking into her eyes - they always seem to end up so full of hurt and betrayal when he’s around - so he studies their interlocked fingers instead while he speaks.  
  
“Maybe you’re right, but that’s not your job any more.”  She opens her mouth to reply but he raises his other hand to silence her.  He’s got to get this out before he loses his resolve. “I was never a proper moirail and was pretty much a’ even worse friend.  I did a lot of stupid things an’ ended up hurtin’ pretty much anyone who gave a single fuck about me, especially you.  So now, I’m not your burden to carry.”  
  
She’s started rubbing little circles over his thumb with her own and when she speaks-  
  
Oh fuck her voice is cracking, _you made her cry, you miserable, self absorbed ass!_  
  
-but the extra shine in her eyes stays right where it is and she steadies herself quickly.  
  
“Just because we were never properly pale doesn’t mean I’m not your friend.  Worrying is something you’re allowed to do for your friends, you know.  You kind of make it easy when you don’t call or text or visit and I never even hear about you from anyone else.”  
  
“Yeah,” he admits, and it’s his turn for the rough voice. “I know.  An’ I’m sorry.  I’m tryin’ to do the opposite, though.  You don’t need me whinin’ an’ glubbin’ all over your shoulder anymore.  Time for me to learn to get my own gills wet before I go draggin’ someone else into the current, don’t you think?”  He silently, desperately wills her to accept this and leave the rest be.   
  
He chances another glance up at her.  She’s stopped chewing her lip, but her brows are drawn, and the expression she wears is tight and tense.  Finally she lets a breath escape her and deflates a little.  
  
“Yes, alright.  I get that, but you don’t have to go cutting all your anchors, you know!  Would it krill you to drop us a line, sometime?”  She’s pouting and her tone is a little indignant.  Combined with her silly fish puns, it’s a one-two-punch combo and Eridan can’t help the little, crooked tilt of his mouth, despite his heart feeling like it’s trying to dash itself to pieces in his chest.  
  
The microwave beeps, startles them both, and they share an embarrassed laugh.  Feferi glances at the wall clock behind him, and the amusement recedes from her face a little.  
  
“I’m sorry Eridan. I have to be going,” she tells him as she slides out of her seat and comes around the table.  Their fingers are still locked, and he stands with her, letting go at the last second to accept another hug.  This one is longer, tighter, and he drops a kiss into hair right between her horns as she nuzzles into his chest.  She smells like tea and honey and still faintly of the ocean even though it’s nearing December and too cold for her to have gone swimming in open water recently.  It makes him ache with longing, and he hates himself just a little bit more for not being able to let this go.  
  
She finally steps back, puts her hands to his shoulders and fixes him with her most stern expression before saying, “Promise me you’ll try to keep in touch this time, okay?”  
  
When he says he will, it’s the quickest and least painful lie he’s had to give her this evening, but it earns him another glowing smile and a kiss on the chin before she flits back out of the door to his apartment and his life.  
  
With her goes any interest in or desire for the world.  He collapses into a sagging heap back into his chair and drops his head into his hands.  Fingers thread through his hair then curl into fists as he tries to wrestle his own personal typhoon back into its cage.  This was not the start he wanted to his night at all.  
  
He knows he won’t try to contact her or any of game’s survivors.  He’s too weak.  If he tried to renew his tenuous friendships with his childhood acquaintances, he knows he would eventually suck them down with him, like a drowning man trying to cling to his rescuer then ends up killing them both in his desperation.  When he self-destructs, it’s messy and spectacular and this time he wants to do it alone.  
  
A voice, tiny and desperate that sounds too much like his six-and-a-half sweep old self back on the meteor, tells him that Feferi is right, that he needs someone to be his stop gap before he reaches critical.  Another one, louder, scathing and full of bile, hisses at it to take a good look at just how well that had turned out the first time.  Dead trolls everywhere, one of which was him.  
  
 _Moirallegiance is a two way street, you fuckin’ idoit,_ it lectures. _How do you expect to do anythin’ but take when you haven’t got anythin’ to offer in return?_  
  
The microwaves beeps forlornly at him, but he mentally tells it to shove off.  There’s too many thoughts competing for a space in his head and none of them are any good.  Coffee sure as fuck isn’t going to fix anything anymore, but he still has one thing left in his nearly bare cabinets.  With a great force of will, he heaves himself up from his seat, walks over to them and pulls down a thick glass bottle stopped with a wood capped cork and filled with amber salvation.  
  
He doesn’t bother with the glasses in the other cupboard, as he only wants one drink anyway.  After un-stopping, he brings the bottle to his lips and takes quick pull.  The whiskey burns the back of his throat on the way down and settles into a little, warm, comforting ball in his stomach.  He can breath a little better after the first swallow, his chest doesn’t feel quite as tight.  
  
It’s not enough to silence his rambling head, and it takes only a moment’s consideration to decide that that’s just a little more urgent than his need to stay entirely sober.  After the third drink he’s feeling considerably more mellow.  He corks the bottle again but declines to put it back in its place, leaving it on the counter instead, just in case.  
  
Time for a hot shower and then finding a place to forget.  
  



End file.
